Friday night rolls around and I find myself hip deep in wine. My entire life is some kind of Bacchic ritual sans orgy (more's the pity). Oh, goodness. Onward, I say! Onward toward Saturday, and onward toward warm weather! Spring, get serious about your business, do you hear me? I want eighty degrees, and I want it immediately. Without turning on my heater. Which I'll have you know, I could totally do.